Memoirs of a Fanfiction Author
by froda-baggins
Summary: An unusual CrossoverShameless Self-insertion wherein my muses run amok and I reflect on how being a fanfic author has changed me.


Disclaimer: I don't own Jack, Sands, PotC or OUaTiM. Everything else is a result of my own insanity.

AN: This is probably one of the weirdest pieces I've ever written. It isn't entirely fictional, although most of it is, having occurred only within my head. It is actually a paper I wrote for my English class. You see, we can write about whatever we want, and I was having trouble figuring out what to write. My mom suggested I write "about those stories you do on the Internet". The resulting essay was excruciatingly bad. So I explained the problem to my roommate. I didn't want to give up on the idea, because it was such a good one, and she suggested I write the paper as a fanfiction. Yup, a fanfiction. So here it is. Proof of my insanity. I hope you enjoy it.

Memoirs of a Fanfiction Author

Taken from The Fanfiction Glossary ():

"Fan: Short for "fanatic," the definition of "fan" depends on who you talk to. A mundane on the street will tell you that it means "someone who's really into something," and probably means a sports team or a TV show. However, when _we_ say "fan," we're really using a secret wink-wink geek code that means "person who's into something that requires an operational brain and some creativity," be it sci-fi, fantasy, roleplaying, comics, etc. We're not just fans -- we're _fans_. And in our own aggressively antiestablishmentarianistic way we're pretty bloody arrogant about it, too. ;)"

"Fanfic: Short for "fan fiction" or "fanfiction," also called "fic" -- any story written about an existing TV show, book, movies, comic, etc. without permission from the original creators or intention of profit."

I hear voices in my head. Currently there are two of them: a swaggering drunkard of a pirate and a psychotic, eyeless CIA agent. At one point there was also an 18th Century New York constable with a very squeamish disposition, and the girl he loves. My head is a scary place to be. 

These are my muses, the basis for my writing. I am an author of what is commonly known as "fanfiction". I currently have one story written another in progress and a third, which I have just started. They are based on the films _Sleepy Hollow, Pirates of the Caribbean, _and _Once Upon a Time in Mexico,_ respectively. 

Jack (the pirate) is currently sulking in a corner, occasionally taking a swig of the bottle of rum he perpetually carries with him. I told him I'm planning on having him kidnapped in the next installment of my story, and he isn't taking the idea very well. Agent Sands, on the other hand, is being his usual stubborn self. He likes to give me little snippets of ideas and then smirks in that thin-lipped, enigmatic way of his, refusing to divulge more. How did I get so lucky? I think to myself sarcastically. A more infuriating pair cannot be imagined. 

I am trying tentatively to get something out of Sands, who seems to be enjoying my discomfiture. 

"Please!" I say in my most whiny voice. "I promise I won't make you sappy and romantic! I just need to know how my original character is going to find you!"

"The hell you will. I know your type. You plan on pairing me off with some simpering little bitch."

"Hey!" I yell back at him, getting angry. "At least I'm not pairing you with the Mariachi! Would you prefer that? And at least you'll get to kill things. Some people have you sitting around, learning to play guitar at the gentle ministrations of El."

He merely snorts derisively, then mutters something I can't catch.

"What?"

"Ramirez! I said Ramirez, are you happy now?"

"Thank you! See? I don't ask for much, do I?"

I fear that's the way it's going to be with him through this entire ordeal. Jack has been somewhat more helpful these past few weeks, though not much more. At first it was all hunky-dory, all he wanted was some rum, his _Pearl_, and the possibility of some treasure. But it's gotten a little more angsty than that, and he isn't sure he likes it, despite the fact that he is now also getting laid regularly. 

"Jack, it wouldn't be for long, and then you'd be able to fight again."

His cutlass is at my throat.

"You had me admit to bein' in love, which makes me sound more like that whelp Will than meself, and now you want me to be held captive? Not on yer life, love." 

"But think of the treasure! And think of Nora! You have to be the leverage!"

That was definitely the wrong thing to say.

"I am no one's leverage, missy."

Before I know it I'm forced to pull my own cutlass out, and away we go. This is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. Did I not mention I have my own cutlass? Well, I do, because I am the author here and what I say goes. At least, as long as my muses agree with me. I hear Sands speaking over the clanging of metal.

"What does a guy need to do to get some tequila around here?"

"Get it yourself!" I yell as I dodge yet another blow from Jack. He's remarkably skilled with a blade, even when he's drunk.

"I have no fucking eyes! How do you expect me to get anything myself?"

The good thing about fighting with Jack is that even though he's a pirate, he is honorable, and won't strike a lady. Therefore, I overcome him eventually. At this rate, I think to myself, I'll never get anything done. I go to the cabinet and start digging around, in search of the tequila. I really hope there is some, because Sands has a short fuse to say the least. Especially since the whole eye-gouging business. I can't say I blame him. Who does that anyway? Apparently Mexican drug cartels. I almost feel sorry for him: almost. 

A shot rings out disturbingly close to my head. I let out a yelp, and I feel much less inclined to pity Sands. He is, after all, a complete bastard. 

"You don't have to do that, you know. I'm getting it."

"I want you to hurry up."

"How do you do that anyway?"

"What?"

"Know where I am all the time. You must have some sense of hearing."

"I guess it makes up for not being able to see. Now where's that tequila? And lime, don't forget the lime."

I sigh exasperatedly. Why do I put up with this? Call it a labor of love if you will. Personally, I just like seeing people telling me what a good job I do. How I have everyone so much in character, and all that. 

All is quiet at the moment and I finally have some time to reflect. I guess I take a kind of sadistic pleasure in having these characters harping at me all the time. Kind of a "tortured artist" thing, I suppose. Maybe I want people to pity me, or feel like I'm part of some kind of elite group of fans who can't help the way we are, it's just a part of us. It's difficult for me to pinpoint, but it's just something I have to do. It's almost an addiction; once you start it becomes impossible to stop. 

Maybe it's an escape, although I might beg to differ on that. Sometimes I wish I could escape from my head, get away from the constant bickering and negotiating that goes along with writing a fanfic. Should I mess with the canon? Should I introduce an original character? Should I do this or that or the other thing? 

I wonder if these are things all writers go through, original and fanfiction. Do you agonize over a bit of dialogue that doesn't seem quite in line with the character? Do you get stuck over how to get your characters to a certain place you want them to be in? Do you lose sleep over minor plot details and major revelations?

One thing's for sure: I'm going to have to learn some Spanish if I'm going to write a story that takes place in Mexico.

"Damn right you will." Sands mutters.

"Shut up."

FIAWOL: Short for "Fandom is a way of life".


End file.
